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POEMS 


WITH 


TRANSLATIONS TROM THE GERMAN 


GEIBEL AND OTHERS. 


BY 

LUCY HAMILTON HOOPER. 

«i 


PHILADELPHIA: 
FREDERICK LEYPOLDT. 
1864 . 



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PHILADELPHIA: 
COLLINS, PRINTER. 


» 


TO 

LLOYD P. SMITH AND CHARLES G. LELAND, 
THE A U THOR, 

* V 

GRATEFUL FOR THE KIND ENCOURAGEMENT AND STILL 

KINDER CENSURE WHICH THEY HAVE EVER 

ACCORDED TO HER LITERARY 

EFFORTS, 

DEDICA TES 


THIS B OOK 








































































V 

. 























CONTENTS 


TRANSLATIONS. 

PAGE 

The Minstrel’s Song 9 

The Stars 11 

Touch Not . 12 

Yearning 13 

The Two Angels 15 

Autumnal Musings 16 

Too Old 17 

Seest Thou the Sea? 18 

Farewell 19 

The Water-Lily 20 

Pergolese . . . . , 21 

The Two Kings 23 

Frederick the Great at Sans Souci . . .24 

My Songs 26 

The Fisher 27 

The King of Thule 28 

Thekla — A Spirit Voice 29 

Fair Hedwig 30 

The Singers .33 


POEMS. 


The Burial 37 

A Winter Dirge 39 

Poesy 41 

Porch of the Cataract House . . . .42 

Autumnal Lyrics 43 


vi 


CONTENTS. 


To my Native Land . 

A Health to Fleur de Lis 
The House upon the Sand 

My Baby 

Without and Within 
The Mask of Plaster 
Annie Oran .... 
The Fifth Act of the Huguenots 
Tasso to Leonora 

Ondine 

Baby Lily 

Transplanted .... 

Re-united 

The Duel 

Imploro Pacem .... 

To 

In Vain 

Revelry 

Ich Habe Geliebet 
In Memory of H. A. C. 

Leonora D’Este 
On an Old Portrait . 

Our Heroes .... 

Too Late 

Jealousy 

The Last Kiss .... 
The Voyage of Life 
A Woman’s Wisdom . 

A Winter Tale .... 
Faust to Marguerite 
The Giving of the Goblet 
On a Portrait of Heine . 

The King’s Ride 
After the Battle 


page 
. 46 
. 48 
. 49 
. 51 
. 52 
. 53 
. 55 
. 57 
. 59 
. 60 
. 61 
. 62 
. 63 
. 64 
. 66 
. 66 


• I V 

. 71 
. 73 
. 75 
. 78 
. 79 
. 80 
. 82 
. 84 
. 85 
. 86 
. 88 
. 89 
. 92 
. 93 
. 94 
. 95 


taM fww tk tatm 


“ MU fremden Schatzen reich beladen ." — Schiller. 












































* 

























SattSMflttg front the fevtumt. 

THE MINSTREL’S SONG. 

Und legt ihr ztoischen mich und sie 
Auch Strom und Thai und Hug el. 

^PHOUGH now there lie, ’twixtthee and me, 
The vale, the hill, the river, 

They part us not, those mighty ones, 

For song hath pinions ever. 

I am a minstrel, widely known, 

While on my way I ’m wending, 

Through every land and every clime 
One song to Heav’n I ’m sending: 

I ’ve loved thee well, thou sweetest, 
Through joy and pain untold; 

I ’ve loved thee well, and greet thee 
A thousand, thousand fold. 

When through the leafy wood I go 
Where finch and thrush are singing, 

My song the winged people learn ; 

Soon from their throats ’tis ringing. 

2 


10 


THE MINSTREL'S SONG . 


The wind doth joyful spread his wings 
When from the heath he heareth, 

And swift my song, o’er mount and stream, 
And farther still, he beareth : 

I ’ve loved thee well, thou sweetest, 
Through joy and pain untold ; 

I ’ve loved thee well, and greet thee 
A thousand, thousand fold. 

Through town and village still I play, 

And over field and mountain, 

Till, with her pitcher, sings the maid 
My song beside the fountain ; 

The hunter hums it to himself 
While through the beech-wood going ; 

The fisher, to his. rudder’s creak, 

Sings, while his net he ’s throwing : 

“ I ’ve loved thee well, thou sweetest, 
Through joy and pain untold ; 

I ’ve loved thee well, and greet thee 
A thousand, thousand fold.” 

And coolest wind and forest bird, 

And fisher, hunter, maiden, 

They all my messengers must be 
With word to thee, love, laden. 

And so in earnest or in jest 
At last thine ear it greeteth ; 

Thou know’st the sender as thou hear’st, 
Thy heart so wildly beateth : 


THE STARS. 


11 


“ I ’ve loved thee well, thou sweetest, 
Through joy and pain untold ; 

I ’ve loved thee well, and greet thee 
A thousand, thousand fold.” 


Geibei.. 


THE STARS, 


Sind die Sterne, fromme Ldmmer. 

RE the stars the lambs of heaven 



That, when fades the day on high, 
Night, the shepherdess, doth lead 
To the blue fields of the sky ? 

Are they lilies, silver lilies, 

That, from out their cups of light, 
Four the fragrant waves of slumber 
On the weary earth all night ? 

Are they lighted tapers, shining 
On the holy altar high, 

When the deep and solemn darkness 
Fills the wide dome of the sky ? 

No ! they are the silver letters 
In which loving angels write, 

On the azure page of heaven, 

Countless songs in lines of light. 


Geibee. 


12 


TOUCH NOT. 


TOUCH NOT. 

Wo still ein Herz von Liebe glUht. 

XXTHERE glows a heart with silent love 
’ ^ Lay not thy reckless hand thereon ; 

Extinguish not the heavenly spark ; 

Indeed, indeed, ’twere not well done ! 

If e’er a spot all unprofaned 
Is found upon this world of ours, 

It is a youthful human heart 

When first it yields to pure Love’s pow’rs. 

0 grant thou still the dream that comes 
Mid rosy blossoms of the May ! 

Thou know’st not what a paradise 
Doth with that vision pass away. 

There broke full many a valiant heart 
When Love was reft away by fate, 

And many, suff’ring, wander forth, 

Fill’d with all bitterness and hate. 

And many, bleeding, wounded, sore, 

Shriek loud for hopes forever fled, 

And mid the world’s dust fling them down, 
For God-like Love to them was dead. 

And weep, complain, e’en as thou wilt, 

Not all thy penitence and pain 


YEARNING. 


13 


Can cause a faded rose to bloom, 
Or bid a dead heart live again. 


Geibel. 


YEARNING. 

Nun wandelt von den Bergen sacht. 

TjOWN from the mount, with footstep light, 
Glides to the lake the summer night ; 
Throughout its deepest shades I go 
The while with dreams my soul doth glow; 

The blossom’d vine, with fragrance rare, 
Intoxicates the passing air ; 

The glow-worm weaves its path of light 
Unto the tower walls afar, 

And overhead with deepest fire 

Looks down on me each mystic star. 

This is the hour when yearning strong 
Fashions the scented air to song ; 

Yearning that, deep in rock, wood, dell, 

In every creature’s heart doth dwell ; 

Yearning that with resistless might 
Forces through rocks the spring to light. 

It bids the forest stretch to Heav’n 
Its thousand verdant arms in vain ; 

It rings as echoes from the cliff; 

It wanders in the wind’s wild strain : 

We hear it in the music — wails 
Of silver-throated nightingales ; 


14 


YEARNING. 


And from the mild eyes of the flow’rs 
Its silent soul looks up to ours. 

O, Yearning ! thou who, like a child 
Though lulled with sweetest songs asleep, 
Dost ever waken and arise 
Only anew to wail and weep, 

How dost thou heart and soul to-day 
With thy complaining bear away ! 

0 would that I might pinions wear 
And disembodied cleave the air ! 

1 must bestow with willing mind 
All that my being holds enshrined ; 

My overflowing heart’s whole treasure, 
Love, reverence, and pain, and pleasure ; 

All that my inmost heart holds stored — • 

All, must I, in a single word, 

As in one golden cup fling free, 

Then pour all spendthrift forth to thee. 

In vain ! No word, however great, 

Can free us from the force of fate ; 

To quench the soul’s thirst we may bring 
The waters of no earthly spring. 

Ah, once I dreamed in golden hours, 

The sunny May-time of the heart, 

That I the mystic secret knew, 

That Love could bid all pangs depart ; 
What then I prized, what held so dear 
Is mine — the yearning still is here. 


THE TWO ANGELS. 


15 


Then rest, 0 troubled heart ! and know 
Not every bloom to fruit doth grow; 

Thou bear’st in thee, Earth’s silent guest, 
What seeketh Heav’n with wild unrest, 

What drives thee ever on thy way 
Of darkness and of weariness ; 

It is the first thrill of the wings 
Enclosed within the chrysalis ; 

Thyself scarce know’st thy pang to be 
Homesickness for Eternity. 

Geibel. 


THE TWO ANOELS. 

0 Tiennst du, Here, die beiden Schwesterengel. 

XT’ NO W’ST thou, 0 heart, the two fair sister angels 
That unto us descend from realms above ? 

One with the lily branch, benignant Friendship, 

The other, crown’d with roSes, witching Love. 

Dark lock’d is Love, and radiantly glowing, 

Fair as the Spring when blossoms burst to light ; 
Friendship blonde tress’d in softest colors blooming, 
And mild and tranquil as a summer’s night. 

Love is a restless sea, amid whose tumult 
Wave upon wave rolls ever to the shore ; 
Friendship, a mountain lake whose deep, clear waters 
Give back the face of Heaven evermore. 


16 


AUTUMNAL MUSINGS. 


Love breaks upon us like a flash of lightning ; 

Like moonlight Friendship stealeth gently in : 
Love ever craveth conquest and possession ; 
Friendship doth give, nor seeks return to win. 

Thrice happy and thrice fortunate the bosom 
Where in a friendly union both abide, 

And where in bright and mystic beauty mingled 
The rose and lily blossom side by side. 

Geibel. 

AUTUMNAL MUSINGS. 

0 war 'es bios der Wange Pracht 
Die mit den Jahren flieht. 

'I XT’ OULD it were but the bloom of youth 
" ' That doth with years depart ! 

Alas, too fades, 0 mournful thought! 

The freshness of the heart. 

How dies the voice of Youth away ! 

The glance grows dim, unmoved, 

And the warm heart, that once so throbb’d, 
Forgets e’en that it lov’d. 

Though freely from our daring lips 
May wit and jesting flow, 

’Tis only like the mocking green 
That over graves doth grow. 


TOO OLD. 


17 


The night comes — with the night comes grief ; 

The mockery is o’er : 

Tears, tears alone can bless our hearts, 

And tears we find no more. 

We are so poor, we are so sad, 

And why we scarce can deem ; 

We only know our hearts are dead, 

And joy is but a dream. 

Geibel. 


TOO OLD. 

0 sieh mich nicht so liichelnd an. 

/""V HUMAN rosebud, maiden fair, 

Look not so smilingly on me ! 

Thy glance, that well might bless a world, 
But thrills my soul with agony. 

My heart to deeper sadness 
Thy friendliness doth move ; 
Forever past, forever 
The days of love. 

Were I but young and glad as thou, 

Were I from woe and sin as free, 

How would my heart now beat for thine, 
How blest together we might be ! 

Unto what magic power 
Did I that sweet dream owe ? 

Alas ! what doth with blossoms 
The withered bough ? 


18 


SEE ST THOU THE SEA ? 


My life has reached its sunset hour ; 

Thine enters on its sunny day ; 

My heart is cold, my heart is dead, 

Thine throbs as ever light and gay. 

Thy happiness thou seest 
Far ’mid the Future’s glow ; 

My sad gaze seeks returning 
The long ago. 

Then, human rosebud, maiden fair, 

Look not with friendliness on me ! 

Thy glance, that well might bless a world, 

But thrills my soul with agony. 

No, let me forth to wander 
Far o’er land and wave ; 

Thou’lt find another lover, 

And I — a grave. 

GEIBEIi. 


SEEST THOU THE SEA ? 

Siehst du das Meer ? Es glanzt auf seiner Fluth. 

O EEST thou the sea ? How glitters on its breast 
^ The morning light ! 

Yet in the depths wherein the pearls do rest 
Is darkest night. 

That sea am I. How in proud waves has roll’d 
My mind’s unrest ! 

My songs have sparkled like the sunlight gold 
Upon its breast. 


FAREWELL. 


19 


How joyous oft has rung th’ enchanted strain 
With love and jest, 

While bled my heart amid its silent pain 
Hid in my breast. 

Geibei<. 


FAREWELL. 

Den letzten Beefier bring ’ ich dir. 

TN one last cup I drink to thee, 

Thou fair and foreign strand ! 

Ah, bitter ’tis to part from thee 
As from my fatherland ! 

Farewell, farewell ! The wind doth press 
The sail with sportive zeal ; 

And on the green and rushing wave 
Doth heave the vessel’s keel. 

The sun sinks in the island sea, 

The light glows rosy red ; 

Still gleams before me yonder house, 
Where our farewells were said. 

How gladly would I, fairest child, 

Have lingered with thee there ! 

In vain ! the dream has faded now — - 
The dream that was so fair. 

Aye such is life — to come, to go, 

By wind and wave thus driven ; 


20 


THE WATER-LILY. 


Sent forth, to nevermore return, 

When scarce we’ve found a haven. 

To be belov’d, to be forgot, 

To love — the sunset light 

Methinks must surely dazzle me, 

So dim has grown my sight ! 

’Tis past, ’tis past. The tears are shed, 
Ended are joy and pain ; 

Forth rushes to the busy world 
This untamed heart again. 

So let it be. The moon’s first ray 
Doth deck the wave with light. 

The shore recedes. — My maiden fair, 

For the last time, good-night ! 

Geibel. 


THE WATER-LILY. 

Die stille Wasserrose. 

rPHE beauteous water-lily 
■*“ Floats on the azure stream ; 
Around her snow-white calyx 
Glisten the leaves and gleam. 

The moon pours down from heaven 
A flood of golden light ; 

Pours down its fairest moonbeams 
Into her bosom white. 


PERGOLESE. 


21 


Circling around the flower 
A fair white swan doth go ; 

He looks upon the lily, 

And singeth soft and low. 

So soft and sweet he singeth, 

The while he glides along, 

0 lily, snow-white lily, 

Canst understand his song ? 

Geibel. 


PERGOLESE. 

Endlich ist das WerJc vollendet , 

Und der fromme Meister sendet. 

“VT OW at last his work he endeth, 

' And the pious Master sendeth 
Up his thanks to Heaven’s throne : 
Through the arched cathedral swelling, 
In majestic billows welling, 

Flow now song and organ tone ; 

Stabat mater dolorosa 
Juxta crucem lachrymosa, 

Dum pendebat Alius, 

Cujus animam gementem 
Contristatem ac dolentem 
Pertransivit gladius. 

And the Virgin’s sorrows holy 
Fill each heart with melancholy 


22 


PERGOLESE. 


While the organ deeper swells ; 

Yet the melodies of Heaven 
Make the very pang forgiven 
That in tears of sorrow wells. 

Quis est homo, qui non fleret 
Christi matrem si videret 
In tanto supplicio, 

Quis non posso contristari 
Piam matrem contemplari 
Dolentem cum filio. 

Pious awe and holy rapture 
Hold the Master’s soul in capture, 
Death foreboding, earnest, mild ; 
Trustfully his eyes he raiseth, 

And upon the altar gazeth, 

On the Virgin and the Child. 

Virgo virginum proeclara, 

Mihi jam non sis amara, 

Fac me tecum plangere, 

Fac ut portem Christi mortem 
Passionis ego sortem 
Et plagas recolere. 

Hark ! The Seraph voices ringing, 
In the choir of Heaven singing, 

Fill the ear with awed delight ; 

Holy spirits, earth-descending, 


THE TWO KINGS. 


23 


Heav’nward bear the Master, wending, 
Upward, upward to the light. 

Fac me cruce custodiri, 

Morte Christi prcemuniri, 

Confoveri gratia ; 

Quando corpus morietur, 

Fac ut animse donetur 
Paradisi gloria. 

Geibel. 


THE TWO KINGS. 

Zwei KOnige sassen auf Orkadal. 

^PWO kings sat stately at Orcadal ; 

“*■ Bright flamed the torch in the pillar’d hall. 

The harpers sang. Bright sparkled the wine ; 
The kings looked darkly into its shine. 

Then spoke one : “ Give thou to me the girl 
With azure eyes and with brow of pearl.” 

The other answer’d, with angry scorn, 

“ She’s mine, and I’ll keep her ; so I’ve sworn !” 

The kings spoke never another word ; 

Each one arose, and each took his sword. 

And forth from the lighted hall they go ; 

Deep by the castle wall lies the snow. 


24 


FREDERICK THE GREAT 


Out flash their swords, and the lights die all ; 
Two kings have fallen at Orcadal. 

Geibel. 


FREDERICK THE GREAT AT SANS SOUCI. 

Dies ist der Konigspark. 

^T^HIS is the royal park. See, trees — turf — flowers — 
See, from their shells stone Tritons blow bright 
showers ; 

And in the fountain’s breast the white nymph shines. 
See Flora’s statue where the rose-trees stand, 

And see the shady walks as primly plann’d, 

And smooth as Boileau’s lines. 

Passing the house where strange bird-voices blend, 
Let us the terrace’s high slope ascend 
Where, crown’d with fallow green, the orange grows ; 
There tow’rs o’er all, where fir and beech entwine, 
The castle whose broad casements in long line 
With evening’s fire glow. 

And there, with sunken head, a man reclines ; 

His blue eye muses, and oft sudden shines 
As though the thunder cloud the lightning flits. 

A cocked hat shades his brow ; and in his hand 
He holds a cane, and scribbles on the sand. 

Thou’rt right ; it is King Fritz ! 


AT SANS SOUCI. 


25 


He sits, and thinks, and writes. Canst tell his thought ? 
With bygone battles are his musings fraught? 

Thinks he of Hochkirch night with flaming air ? 
How flashed the cannon redly to the sky, 

How broke the squadrons of the cavalry 
His grenadiers’ firm square? 

Frames he a law to teach how mild and wise 
His war-strong nation may to beauty rise ? 

Peace greetings where the war drum rent the air ? 
Seeks he a rhyme for some defective verse ? 

Or does he now an epigram rehearse 
To overcome V oltaire ? 

Comes now the vanished past before his sight 
When he, in dressing-gown, ’neath pale moonlight, 
Grasped his soft flute and braved his father’s scorn? 
Or does he summon from his last long rest 
The faithful friend, alas ! whose youthful breast 
By sevenfold balls was torn ? 

Dreams he of future days ? Before his sight 
Passes the Prussian eagle’s daring flight ? 

The double-headed eagle checked he sees ? 

Thinks he, hereafter, how the German land 
Shall, hoping, fearing, ’neath the black wing stand ? 
He thinks of none of these. 

He sighs : “ 0 grief, to be the hero giv’n 
Unto a people shut from Art’s fair heav’n ! 

3 


20 


MY SONGS. 


To be Augustus where no Horace sings ; 

What good from foreign swans white plumes to borrow 
Yet what remains us else? Appear, 0 morrow ! 
That unto us the God beloved brings.” 

He speaks, and dreams not that the morning’s glow 
Kisses the horizon ; that even now 

The wreath is grasped by youthful Goethe’s hand 
That he doth lead the timid, blushing child, 

The German Muse, from far off Taxus wild, 

To the free Minstrel Land. 

Geibel. 


MY SONGS. 


Goldne Br&cken seien 
Alle Lieder mir. 


T> RIDGES, golden bridges 
Are these songs of mine. 
O’er them Love doth travel 
From my heart to thine. 


And the wings of dreaming 
Shall, in joy and smart, 
Every night still bear me 
To thy faithful heart. 


Geibel. 


THE FISHER. 


27 


THE FISHER. 

Das Wasser rauscht, das Wasser schwoll. 

rPHE water rushed, the water rose, 

A fisher sat thereby, 

And saw his float upon the wave 
Calm as his own heart lie. 

And as he sat, and as he mused, 

He saw the wave unclose, 

And from the troubled waters, slow 
A dripping maiden rose. 

She spake to him, she sang to him : 

“ My brood why lure away, 

With human skill and human guile, 

To die in glow of day ? 

Ah ! couldst behold our ocean home, 

So joyous and so fair, 

Thou’dst plunge at once beneath the wave 
To dwell forever there.” 

“ Do not the sun and moon descend 
Their burning brows to lave ? 

Then doubly fair arise they not 
From out the cooling wave? 

Art thou not lured by yonder sky, 

Its liquid depths of blue ? 

Does thine own image tempt thee not, 
Upsmiling from the dew ? ” 


28 


THE KING OF THULE. 


The water rushed, the water rose, 

It laved his naked feet ; 

Then full of longing wax’d his heart — 

A longing strange and sweet. 

She spake to him, she sang to him ; 

Ah, fatal was the strain ! 

Half drew she him, half sank he in, 

And ne’er was seen again. 

Goethe. 


THE KING OF THULE. 

Es war ein Kdnig in Thule. 

SPHERE was a king in Thule 
True even to the grave, 

To whom his loved one, dying, 

A golden goblet gave. 

He held naught else so precious, 
Naught else so safely kept ; 

At every feast he drained it, 

And as he drank he wept. 

And, dying, all his cities 
And wealth he counted up ; 

His realms he gave up freely ; 

Not so the treasured cup. 

He called his knights around him, 
A kingly feast he gave 


A 


THEKLA—A SPIRIT VOICE . 


29 


In yon ancestral palace, 

High up above the wave. 

Up rose the old carouser, 

One last long draught drank he; 

Then flung the hallowed goblet 
Far down into the sea. 

He saw it falling, filling, 

And sinking in the main ; 

Then closed his eyes forever ; 

He never drank again. 

Goethe. 


THEKLA—A SPIRIT VOICE. 

Wo ich sei, und wo mich hingewendet. 

T^THERE I am, and whither I have wended 
" " Since my fleeting shade before thee moved ? 
Have I not life’s story closed and ended ? 

Have I not, 0 seeker, lived and loved ? 

Wouldst thou question thus the nightingales 
Who, with soulful song in Spring’s bright day, 
Rapt thee with melodious enchantment ? 

Ask no more; but while they loved, were they. 

Have I found thee, lost one ? 0, believe me ! 

We are united as in days of yore, 

Where the ties that bind us none can sever, 

Where our bitter tears we weep no more. 


30 


FAIR HEDWIG. 


Thou wouldst find us there again and quickly, 

If thy love but only equalled ours ; 

There too, free from sin, doth dwell my father, 
Snatched for aye from bloody murder’s powers ; 

And he feels no mocking dream betray’d him 
When he sought to read the starry sky ; 

When all men are judged, he has found judgment ; 
To believers is the Holy nigh. 

Word is kept with each fair trusting feeling 
In yon starry spaces far away ; 

Wander’st thou through erring and through dreaming, 
Highest thought lies oft in childish play. 

Goethe. 


“FAIR HEDWIG.” 

Im Kreise der Vasallen sitzt. 

O URROUNDED by his vassals, sits 
^ The young and valiant knight, 

With glowing cheek and dark bright eye, 
That gleams with fiery thoughts and high, 
As if he sought the fight. 

Forth steps a gentle maid to him, 

And fills his cup with wine ; 

Then modestly she glides away ; 

Upon her brow the fairest ray 
Of morning seems to shine. 


FAIR HE D WIG. 


31 


But quickly doth the young knight seize 
Her hand so snowy white ; 

Her azure eye, so pure and clear, 

She bends on earth, as if in fear, 

Then lifts with changeless light. 

“ Fair Hedwig, who before me stand’st, 

Three things now tell me free : 

Whence thou dost come? where thou dost go? 
Why follow’st thou my footsteps so ? 

These are my questions three.” 

“ Whence do I come ? I come from God, 

They told me in past years, 

When, once pursued by mocking scorn, 

For father, mother, still unknown, 

I asked with bitter tears. 

“Where do I go? Nought drives me forth, 
The world is far too wide ; 

Why should I wander here and there ? 

The world, the world is everywhere ; 

Joy dwells on every side. 

“ Why do I follow at thy sign ? 

Say, could I rest me ? Never ! 

I pour the wine thou drink’st for thee ; 

I asked the task on bended knee ; 

Would it were mine forever !” 


32 


FAIR HEDWIG. 


“ And now I ask, thou fairest child, 

A fourth last thing of thee ; 

Then will my questioning be o’er. 

Quick ! answer me ; I ask no more. 

Say, maiden, lov’st thou me ?” 

At first she stands amazed and mute, 

Then casts around her gaze 
Upon each circling knightly guest ; 

Then folds her hands upon her breast — 

“ I love thee,” soft she says. 

“ But now I know that far away 
I must from hence be gone ; 

In truth, ’tis clear within my breast. 

The veil, since I have this confessed, 

Befits me now alone.” 

“ And when thou say’st thou com’st from God, 
I feel thou speak’st aright ; 

His dearest child, I lead thee forth, 

In spite of scorn and hate, my troth 
At altar foot to plight. 

“ Unto the chapel, noble guests, 

I pray you follow me. 

Brave knights and proud, ye, at my call, 

Came hither to a festival ; 

My fairest it shall be.” 


Hebbel. 


THE SINGERS. 


33 


THE SINGERS. 

0 heilige Nacht ich singe, dir t 

HOLY Night, my song now be ! 

Proudly I ope my heart to thee. 

A nightingale, dark boughs among, 

Poured forth her dreaming soul in song — 

I sang not. 

0 Morning Light, to thee I sing ! — 
Upsprang the lark on joyous wing, 

And, soaring ever near the sky, 

Sang praises to the Lord on High — 

I sang not. 

SCHERENBERO. 









♦ 


BY 

LUCY HAMILTON HOOPER. 


“ T am nae poet in a sense, 

But just a rhymer , like, by chance — Burns. 






























































. 















ormss. 


THE BURIAL. 

T^OLD soft thine em’rald mantle, Earth, 
O’er this, our faded blossom, 

That now, with mournful step and slow, 
We bear unto thy bosom ! 

Unto thy kindly clasping arms 
We yield her without sorrow, 

Because we know to Grief’s dark night 
Kind death has brought a morrow. 

Let tears of anguish rain o’er those 
Who perished joyous-hearted — 

Who from the sunshine and the flowers 
Of happiness departed ! 

But not for her, who slumbers now, 

Is fitted woe or weeping ; 

We joy to know that, never, dream 
May break her quiet sleeping. 


38 


THE BURIAL. 


We gazed upon her gentle brow, 

And recked not of its aching ; 

We listened to her tender words, 

Nor dreamed her heart was breaking; 
Only when she, all meekly pale, 

On her last couch was lying, 

We learned how dreary life had been, 

And wept not at her dying. 

We give her to thy clasp, 0 Earth ! 

As calmly, sweetly smiling 
As erst she smiled, ere knowing aught 
Of falsehood and beguiling ; 

Ere yet her trust had proved man’s faith, 
And withered in the proving — 

Ere yet her heart had learned to love, 

And broken in the loving. 

And now we lay her down to rest 
Beneath the cypress-shadow, 

And wreathe about her lowly grave 
Bright blooms from wood and meadow ; 
Flowers for her grave, whose earthly path, 
Thorn-strewn, stretched dark and* lonely, 
Who saw Life’s roses wave afar, 

And plucked the thorn-branch only. 


A WINTER DIRGE. 


39 


A WINTER DIRGE. 

"JV/T 0 AN, moan, 0 wild and stormy wind, 

-LTA Through the dark winter sky ! 

Moan on, that thy hoarse voice may shame 
Earth’s cold inconstancy ! 

The music streams upon the air, 

The laughter ringeth free, 

And fair forms in the dance are met ; 

But the fairest, where is she ? 

Her proud ancestral home is gay 
With revelry to-night ; 

W e see no tear-drops shining ’neath 
The blaze of festal light ; 

Yet the grave has locked his icy arms 
O’er the form that was so fair, 

And the coffin-lid hath shut the light 
From her sunny golden hair. 

Lost, lost to earth ! Yet I alone, 

Beneath this winter sky, 

Still hold within my heart a love 
For her that cannot die. 

Sweep on, gay dancers, in your mirth ! 
Ring, music, on the air ! 

A smile may rest on every lip, 

But one heart locks despair ! 


40 


A WINTER DIRGE. 


Forth in the midnight hour I steal 
To weep o’er thee alone, 

Lost love ! but oh, thou canst not tell 
My voice from winter’s moan. 

Thou canst not tell my burning tears 
From chill December’s rain ! 

Thy slumbers are not stirr’d by all 
Mine agony and pain. 

0 bitter tears ! O frantic cries ! 

0 words, however spoken ! 

Poor, poor are ye to tell the grief 
Of a heart that hath been broken ! 

Not long my words of woe will stir 
The churchyard’s icy air, 

For o’er my heart there comes a calm, 

The calmness of despair. 

Oh, would mine anguished love could bring 
Some answer from the tomb 1 ! 

Could wake some echo from its depths 
Of silence and of gloom. 

In vain ! in vain ! Moan on, thou wind ! 

In winter wildness rave ! 

For thou and I alone keep watch 
Beside my lost love’s grave. 


POESY. 


41 


POESY. 

Written whilst reading Schiller's Maid of Orleans . 

"VT 0 longer dwell I in this work-day world ; 

' Its busy hum falls not upon mine ear. 

I wander through the realm of Poesy, 

And round me see I visions wondrous fair, 

The bright creations of great Schiller’s pen, 

The hero features of the Count Dunois, 

The gentle Sorel and her loving king, 

The lofty form of noble Burgundy, 

The youth whose beauty won the Maiden’s heart, 
The Maid herself, with helmet-shadowed brow, 
Inspired eyes, though mournful in their fire, 

Yet lustrous with a light not of this world : 

She cometh in the watches of the night, 

And on my dreaming ear her sweet voice falls, 

In words of inspiration, or of woe, 

Filling my sleep with music. 0 Life ! Life ! 

Who calleth thee a dull reality, 

When through thy dusty trodden paths there sweep 
The brilliant pageants of the ideal world — 

And through thy busy hum comes sounding oft 
The wondrous music of that poet land? 

Without may lie the strife and toil of Earth ; 
Within our hearts we lead another life — 

A brighter and a nobler. We may walk 
Life’s pathway with the common forms of clay, 

But radiant visions wander at our side, 

4 


42 PORCH OF THE CATARACT HOUSE. 


And though our lips may speak in common phrase, 
Our hearts hold converse with those unseen forms. 


ON THE PORCH OF THE CATARACT HOUSE. 

’fTHS night upon the waters : but the hour 
That bringeth silence unto all beside, 

With the deep majesty of its repose, 

Calms not the tumult of thy rushing tide, 

Thou monarch Cataract ! Thy mighty voice 
Goes up to God from out the silent night, 

And the wild waters, hurrying to thy grasp, 

Rush madly onward ’neath the moon’s pale light. 

He who would visit Europe’s ruined fanes 
Must look upon them ’neath the pallid moon. 

The crowded city’s turmoil-haunted streets 
Are fittest for thy gaze at burning noon. 

The broad untroubled river best is seen 
’Neath the soft glories of the day’s decline ; 

And ocean’s grandeur with the storm-wind dwells : 
All seasons, all, Niagara, are thine ! 

Spring drops her crown of blossoms at thy feet, 
And Summer veils thy trees in deepest green ; 

And gorgeous Autumn flings his richest robe 
Of gold and crimson o’er the forest scene ; 

And Winter comes in panoply of ice, 

And loads with pendent jewels every tree : 


AUTUMNAL LYRICS. 


But all these seasons, bringing change to all, 
Bring never change, Niagara, to thee ! 

Above thy mist-veiled brow the lightnings play ; 

Thy thunder answers back the thunder’s roar ; 
But the wild storm adds no sublimity 
Unto thy grandeur, changeless evermore ; 

The angry winds of Winter can but raise 
The misty veil that shrouds thine awful brow. 
Vain is the ice-king’s might to chain thy waves 
In their slow plunge to their green sleep below. 

Yet even to thee, 0 mighty Cataract ! 

The time will come when thou wilt be no more ; 
When the deep anthem of thy thunder voice 
Shall silent be beside the rocky shore ; 

When the bright rainbow, bending from the skies, 
Shall seek in vain the brow she used to crown ; 
And thy own waves shall sing thy requiem, 

From lake to lake in fury rushing down. 


AUTUMNAL LYRICS. 

S E PTE MBEK. 

/Y FAIREST of the seasons, thou art here ! 
We crown thee queen, and joy to greet 
sway ! 

Thou lay’st thy cool hand on the brow of Earth, 
And the fierce summer fever dies away. 


44 


AUTUMNAL LYRICS. 


0 linger with us, Autumn ! Sighing Spring 
Goes like a weeping phantom through the land ; 
And Summer comes enrobed in Tropic flame ; 

And chill the clasp of Winter’s frozen hand. 

But thou, 0 thou of sunsets cold and clear! 

And veiled skies, soft as a mother’s smile, 

Dost loving bend o’er this thy favored land, 

Leave us not yet. 0 linger yet awhile ! 

The forest caught the colors of the clouds 
When the last summer sunsets died away ; 

And now as bright a couch is spread to greet 
The dying year as waits the dying day. 

Leave us not yet. Still for a little space 
Pause o’er the land that gladdens ’neath thy reign. 
But vain our prayer. E’en now the herald winds 
Sound the approach of Winter’s icy train. 

Spring into Summer ripens ; Summer dies 
In thine embrace, 0 golden-glowing Fall ! 

But Nature pauses with her last best gift : 

O’er Autumn’s bosom Winter folds the pall. 

OCTOBER. 

rpHE sunset of the seasons glows around us, 

And Autumn wanders musing through the 
bowers, 

Dropping o’er mount and forest hues resplendent, 
Once worn in pride by Summer’s vanished flowers. 


AUTUMNAL LYRICS. 


45 


The Summer, slow retreating from the heavens, 
Returns a space, earth’s beauty to behold, 

And through the mist of parting tears she sendeth 
One last fond smile to haunts beloved of old. 

Like the Egyptian queen in ancient story. 

That garbed herself all royally to die, 

The year around her folds her robes of beauty, 

And stands a queen beneath the pallid sky ; 

And round her regal form, like hushed attendants, 
The forests stand in anguished moanings tost, 

For ’neath her splendor heaves to death her bosom, 
Smote by the aspic of th’ untimely frost. 

Like Caesar soon will come the chill December, 

To gaze upon her form whence life is fled, 

And the wild winds that wail around her dying, 

Will shriek in anguish o’er the bright Year dead. 

NOVEMBER. 

rpHE day, new Niobe, has wept to death — 

Gray stone-like clouds are piled above her 
tomb; 

Like some wild weeper rushing forth distraught, 

The east wind hurries sobbing through the gloom. 

The old trees raise their skeleton arms to heaven, 
Praying for sunshine, and the sky has none ; 

The sea is mourning for the Summer’s death ; 

Far in the distance sounds his sullen moan. 


46 


TO MY NATIVE LAND . 


But yestere’en the woods in beauty stood; 

The sun looked down on earth with veiled rays ; 
Bright vestured Autumn walked amid the bowers, 
And the shy maple blushed beneath his gaze. 

Gone now the glory. Through the naked boughs 
The storm-wind rushes with a sobbing moan ; 
Stripped of his gold and crimson, Autumn stands, 
A chained captive, before Winter’s throne. 

A little longer, and the year shall lay 

A snowy slab above her bright son’s head, 

And Winter write, with frozen hand and slow, 

“ Here, slain by my hand, lies Autumn dead !” 


TO MY NATIVE LAND. 

( Written whilst in Europe.) 

*VT 0 magic veil of Poesy 

Is round thee flung, beloved land ! 
No spirits haunt thy caverns dark, 

No sea-nymphs warble on thy strand. 
No echo of a poet voice 

Resounds amid thy mighty caves ; 

No ruined fanes upon thy shores 
Rise up to point a nation’s grave. 

Thy fertile plains in ancient days 
Were by no storied footsteps trod ; 
Nature amid thy mighty hills 
Stood silent and alone with God ! 


TO MY NATIVE LAND. 


Yet where the far White Mountains rear 
Their proud forms ’gainst the azure sky, 
Bearing upon their lofty front 
Names wed to Immortality; 

And where Lake George’s mountain shores 
Frown o’er the islands on her breast, 

As lovers of a wedded dame 

Scowl darkly o’er her infant’s rest, 

Save in the Switzer’s rocky clime 
Earth knows naught fairer, more sublime. 

Not thine the Alps, whose awful brows 
Rise pale beneath the sunset’s dyes ; 

Not thine the ruined temples old, 

That tower ’neath Italia’s skies ; 

But thine the prairie’s burst of bloom, 
Niagara rushing from the steep, 

And answering back the thunder’s voice 
In tones as mighty and as deep ; 

And thine the vast primeval woods, 

The rushing voice of giant floods ! 

Oh, cold indeed his heart must be 
Who, wandering on a foreign strand, 
Turns not with yearning love to thee, 

My beautiful, beloved land. 


A HEALTH TO FLEUR DE LIS. 


A HEALTH TO FLEUR DE LIS. 

T DRINK to thee ! I drink to thee ! 

Not from the fragile crystal bowl ; 

The cup that shivers at a touch 
Might image many another soul, 

But were no type of thine ! 

No ! not ’mid scenes of revelry 
I drain to thee the glowing wine. 

Thy name — it were a holy sound 
To murmur in some solemn shrine, 

And not where laugh and jest go round : 

And yet, methinks, were it once breath’d, 
’Twould silent strike each reckless word 
With awe to tremble on the air 
That name of thine had stirred. 

I drink to thee I I drink to thee ! 

But from no golden goblet wrought 
With frenzied dream and fever’d thought 
Of smiling nymphs and satyrs old; 

No burning cup of fretted gold 
I lift with thought of thee — of thee, 

My spotless Fleur de Lis ! 

I drink to thee ! I drink to thee ! 

My cup the folded lily flower ; 

I gathered it beneath the moon, 

At the charmed midnight hour; 


THE HOUSE UPON THE SAND. 


49 


And o’er it murmur’d many a prayer 
That, ’neath the noontide’s glow and glare, 
Its bloom might show as pure, as fair 
As thou art, Fleur de Lis ! 

My draught the cold unsullied dew, 

Dropt from the melancholy blue 
Of the dim eyes of night. 

A crystal wine, a cup of snow, 

Behold to thee I drain it now, 

Less pure the draught, less fair the vase 
Than thou art — thou ! 


THE HOUSE UPON THE SAND. 

(JfcUt. vii. 26, 27.) 

TT was a stately palace home, 

Just out of reach of the salt sea foam ; 

A palace by airy fancy built, 

With slender tower and minaret. 

And wond’rous carvings, rarely gilt, 

And statues of beauty in order set ; 
Glowing lights from the windows shone; 
Within there stood a golden throne, 

Where luxury sat in pride of place, 

And a band of dancers, in airy grace, 

Swam through the dance to a lute’s gay tune. 

Without, the plashing sea kept moan, 

And faintly glimmered the waning moon ; 

And the wind had a mock in its every tone ; 


50 


THE HOUSE UPON THE SAND. 


There were none to listen ; the music rang ; 

And lightly danced and gayly sang 
The revellers, the joyous band, 

In the house upon the sand ! 

Who recked that the sky lay dark above, 

And the sea lay dark below ? 

They could not see how waned the moon 
For the festal torches’ glow. 

And moaning wind and moaning sea 
Were all unheard ’mid the revelry; 

The dance and the song went gayly on ; 

And the wine-cup gleamed, and the music rang. 
Ah, merrily, merrily danced and sang 
The revellers, the joyous band, 

In the house upon the sand ! 

And still the clouds crept on and on, 

And the wind had a shriek of prophetic dread, 
And the wild waves wailed like a soul in despair, 
And the sea drew nigh with a stealthy tread 
Till its foot was on the palace stair. 

There was none to hearken, none to see ; 

Loud rang the bursts of revelry. 

The wind might moan, but the song went on ; 
The moon was gone, but the lights still shone ; 
The voice was sweet, and the footsteps free, 

And the winecup sparkled red and bright. 
Who could reck of the angry sea ? 

In sooth, it was a merry night 


MY BABY. 


51 


The revellers spent, the joyous band, 
In the house upon the sand ! 


MY BABY. 

A SLEEP my little baby lies — 

My bud new fallen from the skies, 

My pearl just brought from ocean’s shell. 
Fond similes they crowd apace 
As close I press the tiny face 
And little form we love so well. 

She is qur first-born, this fair girl, 

This little paly human pearl ; 

This best of all gifts Heaven e’er brought. 
O, Life was all unfinished 
Ere in its woof this golden thread 
By kindly angel hands was wrought. 

God sent her in autumnal hours, 

When heavily the fading flowers 
Drooped ’neath the chilling touch of frost 
’Mid wailing wind and leafless bower 
Awoke to life our little flower : 

A sweeter bud than earth had lost. 

Now Summer’s breath her soft hair stirs; 
Not yet a twelvemonth’s life is hers ; 

O baby, ours so short a space ! 


52 


WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 


What wond’rous gift of magic power, 
What royal crown, what golden dower 
Could ever fill thy vacant place*? 

God, pluck not back thy little flower ! 

O Monarch Death, thou hast a dower 
Of many a rare and radiant gem ! 
Spare, spare to us our little pearl, 

Our dearest treasure, this fair girl ; 

This one sweet blossom on Life’s stem ! 


WITHOUT AND WITHIN. ' 

fT^HE day lies dead beneath a cloudy pall ; 

The wind beside her moans in mournful strain ; 
From the dusk fingers of the drowsy clouds 
Drop slowly, one by one, the pearls of rain. 

There is no living thing abroad on earth ; 

There are no stars ; the clouds have quenched their 
light. 

There is no sound except the wailing wind ; 

Thou, world without, art dark and drear to-night ! 

Yet not so dreary as mine inner world. 

Beside my hearth, where bright forms sat of yore, 
Sits a pale shadow, mutt’ring with white lips : 

“ My name is Sorrow — we shall part no more !” 


THE MASK OF PLASTER. 


53 


Who are the blest ones in this world of ours ? 

The silent dead in very truth are blest. 

The marble portal, closed by Death’s cold hand, 
Shuts out all sorrow, and doth shut in rest. 

Blest the distraught ! To them come phantoms bright, 
Lighting with alien torch the darkened brain. 

Alas ! alas, the melancholy thoughts ! 

That follow ceaseless as the drops of rain. 


THE MASK OF PLASTER. 

( Travellers at Dresden are shown a plaster cast taken front, 
Napoleon's face immediately after death.) 

fT^HUS looked the dead. Thus did Napoleon lie. 
- 1 * O, cold imperial face ! 

E’en death could not erase 
The majesty from that uncrowned brow, 

Nor from that cold lip chase the winning smile 
That lit thy features proud, as sunset’s glow 
Flushes with beauty some pale peak of snow, 
Throned in the Alpine sky. 

What visions passed before those fading eyes 
Ere closed in death’s eclipse ? 

When “T§te d’arm^e — Josephine — Ma Mkre” 
Dropped from the paling lips. 

Thy wife’s dark eyes, thy noble mother’s smile, 

And with those tender memories the while, 


54 


THE MASK OF PLASTER. 


Came the red battle, and th’ exulting cry, 

“ Napoleon — Victory 1” 

And the bright past swept, glory-laden, by. 

Thou didst behold o’er many a field 
Thy soaring eagle wave his plume, 

Until the sun of Austerlitz 
Went down in endless gloom — 

Went down o’er Waterloo, to rise 
Never again on earthly skies. 

To thee there never came a dawn, 

For thee there never beamed a star, 

Save when thine eye prophetic pierced 
The darkness, and beheld afar 
The day-star of thy race arise, 

As radiant as when of yore 
The shadow of thy purple spread 
Its mighty wings from shore to shore. 
Behold ! thy race upon the throne ! 

Thy tomb a nation’s hallowed shrine ! 

Thy name the battle-shout of France ! 

Thy memory a dream divine ! 

But thou art sleeping, and no voice again 
Will wake thee from thy slumber by the Seine 
And this pale visage only to our eyes 
Reveals thy mortal guise. 

No battle thunder swept thee to thy rest ; 

No hostile bullet stilled thy mighty heart. 
The slow shafts of the tropic air 
Played the assassin’s part. 


ANNIE ORAN. 


55 


Thou, conqueror of the world, didst pass away 
’Mid enemies alone ! 

(Thy prison a rock, thy jailor the wild sea !) 

A trailing willow and a nameless stone 
W ere all their churlish hands could grant thy clay. 
Yet not unhonored went thou to thy sleep. 

The tempest shrieked thy death-knell o’er the deep. 
Heaven sent its thunder for a requiem, 

And thine avenger is Eternity 1 


ANNIE ORAN. 

"VTIGHT and tempest rule the heavens, 
And their spell o’er earth is cast ; 

And the ancient trees are riven 
By the fury of the blast. 

Loud and wild the wind is shrieking ; 
Dark and dreary frown the skies ; 

From the grave beneath the willow 
Darker still the shadow lies ; 

And that shadow shall be lifted 
Nevermore for pang or prayer. 

All of love the earth e’er gave me 
Lieth cold and silent there. 

Faintly glimmers through the darkness 
Yonder stone of snowy sheen ; 

But my heart can read the writing — 

“ Annie Oran, aged nineteen.” 


56 


ANNIE ORAN. 


Annie Oran, once you loved me ! 

Fickle heart and broken vow, 

I, who could not love you living, 
Love you very dearly now — 

Love you with a bitter yearning 
That can never pass away ; 

Love you with an anguished passion 
That can never know decay — 

As the blind man loves the sunlight 
He shall never see again, 

As the lost souls love the heaven 
They may never hope to gain. 

Now I know how true and tender 
Was the heart I spurned away ; 
And that my best gift from Heaven 
Lies beneath the churchyard clay. 
You are well avenged now, Annie, 
In the wild and yearning pain 
That doth rend my soul to see you ; 
For I love you — and in vain. 

Can my passion pass the portal 
Of the Heaven where you dwell? 
Ho you know, now, that I love you, 
You who loved me once so well ? 
Do you love me now, beloved ? 

Shall I ever see you more ? 

Shall I meet your smile of pardon 
On yon dim and distant shore ? 


FIFTH ACT OF THE HUGUENOTS. 57 


I would give the years of anguish 
And remorse that I must live 

But to hear your soft voice whisper 
Just, “ I love you — I forgive.” 

By your grave I pray for pardon, 

In my grief and my despair ; 

But the heart that I have broken 
Stirs no longer at my prayer. 

Never shall I know forgiveness 
Till I read it in your eyes. 

And my soul must yearn in anguish 
Till I meet you in the skies. 

There is space beside you, Annie, 
’Twixt you and the churchyard wall ; 

Pray to God that I may fill it 
Ere the summer blossoms fall. 


THE FIFTH ACT OF “ THE HUGUENOTS.” 

Valentine to Raoul. 

fT^HOU hast spurned the life I proffer, and I go to 
death with thee ; 

Thou my faith hast long forsaken — to thy God I bend 
my knee. 

I will show thee in this hour how a woman’s heart can 
love ; 

And the faith this night hath given, I this night in 
Heav’n will prove. 

5 


58 FIFTH ACT OF THE H UG UENO TS. 


For a little space the crimson tide of slaughter ebbs 
away ; 

Thine in love, and thine in faith, by thy side I kneel 
to pray ; 

Faithful friend and noble soldier, bless thy children 
ere they die — 

Ere we tread the gory pathway spread before us to 
the sky. 

Clasp me closer, 0 beloved ! Fold my throbbing heart 
to thine ; 

See along the lurid city how our wedding torches 
shine ; 

And the anthems of our bridal cleave the midnight’s 
shuddering breath : 

Lo the priest waits to unite us — that pale priest whose 
name is Death ! 

Ay, behold my second bridal— it is fairer than the 
first ; 

Then my soul with bitter mem’ries and with yearnings 
wild was curst. 

Sweeter far the murderous midnight and the martyr’s 
couch of pain 

Than the barges’ silken glories gliding down the 
smiling Seine. 

Better far the martyr’s glory and the grave’s tri- 
umphant rest, 

Better thus to pass to Heaven with my head upon 
thy breast, 


TASSO TO LEONORA. 


59 


Than to tread Life’s thorny mazes with toil-worn 
and weary feet, 

Than to mask my life-long loneliness in glittering 
deceit. 

See the torches shine advancing, flashing down the 
narrow street ; 

Nearer shout the murderous voices, nearer come the 
hurrying feet. 

Closer, closer clasp me, Raoul; lay my head upon thy 
breast ; 

Never more on earth we’ll sever — Death is with us — 
Death and rest ! 


TASSO TO LEONORA. 

T AST night I kissed you. Warm upon my lips 
That kiss is lying — 

A holy seal that never shall grow cold 
Till I am dying. 

We met — we parted — nevermore to meet 
On this side Heaven. 

And now I know all gifts Life had in store 
For me are given. 

You were too lofty, and too lowly I ; 

Aud so we parted. 

And now alone I tread Life’s thorny path, 

Not broken-hearted. 


60 


ONDINE. 


No, for I love you, and your woman soul, 
So noble proved. 

I am contented ; and my heart grows proud 
But to have loved. 


ONDINE. 

A S springs the fountain to the light, 
She flashed upon our dazzled sight ; 
As falls the fountain to the stone, 

She fled — as bright as sudden gone — 
Ondin6 ! 

Fair as the coral wreath she gave, 

Ah, fatal present of the wave ! 

Pure as the wave that knows no shore, 
So fair, so pure ; and now no more, 
OndinS ! 

Ah ! those who mourn an earthly love 
May weep the hiding turf above. 

But I ! what have I left of thee, 

Except the wild unresting sea, 

Ondin6 ? 


BABY LILY. 


61 


BABY LILY. 

O HE was a purer, fairer bud 
^ Than summer’s sun uncloses ; 
Spring brought her with the violets ; 
She left us with the roses. 

A little pillow, where the print 
Of her small head yet lingers ; 

A silver coral, tarnished o’er 
With clasp of tiny fingers ; 

A mound, the rosebush at the head, 
Were all too long to measure ; 

And this is all that Heaven has left 
Of her, our little treasure. 

O human pearl, pale and pure 1 
0 little lily blossom ! 

The angels lent a little space 
To grace a mortal bosom. 

The azure heavens bend above, 
Unpitying and cruel ; 

A casket all too cold and vast 
To shrine our little jewel. 

We cannot picture her to mind ; 

An angel, crowned and holy ; 

& 


62 


TRANSPLA NT ED. 


A fair and helpless human thing, 

Our hearts still keep her solely. 

Sleep, baby, calmly in thy nest, 

Amid the fading flowers, 

The while we strive to learn the words, 
“ God’s will be done — not ours !” 


TRANSPLANTED. 

NORTHERN clime, with frowning sky, 
0 Northern breezes chilly ! 

Learn sweeter smile and softer sigh 
For this fair Southern lily ! 

Transplanted from her genial home 
Of sunlight, warmth, and lightness, 

She brings its sweetness in her smile, 

And in her eyes its brightness. 

What golden mesh of tenderness, 

What spell of faery olden, 

Shall we not weave to clasp her from 
That land of sunlight golden ? 

Ah me ! our Northern blasts blow chill ; 

Dark frown the clouds above her ; 

Cold gleam our skies — but not our hearts — 
Ah 1 soon we learned to love her ! 

We love thee / Be those words a spell 
To keep thee from the yearning 


RE-UNITED. 


63 


Home-parted hearts too often feel, 
In sad thought home returning. 
Then let thy fair land keep its gifts 
Of brightness and of blossom. 
One star we’ve stolen from its skies, 
One lily from its bosom. 


RE-UNITED. 

OU are dead, and I am dying ; 

We shall meet before the morrow ; 
All our lonely years are ended ; 

We have done with pain and sorrow. 

I shall see you ere the setting 
Of yon slowly rising moon. 

Ay, we knew not when we parted 
That we’d meet again so soon. 

All the long years we were severed, 

All their bitter sorrows seem 
Like the pale and fading phantoms 
Of a scarce remembered dream. 

And my heart forgets its aching 
In the joy that thrills it now ; 

There are none to come between us 
In the land to which I go. 

Do you know that I am coming ? 

Do you watch for me to-night ? 

Do you wait above the stars, love, 

As I wait beneath their light ? 


64 


THE DUEL. 


Ah, I know that you are waiting 
In your fair and distant home ! 
We’ve a tryst now, 0 beloved ! 
Where no enemies can come. 

You are dead, and I am dying, 

Yery slowly, but at last. 

And I trust the death-veiled Future 
To redeem the mournful Past. 
Ne’er was pillow pressed so gladly 
As the one whereon I’m lying; 
For I know you ’ll greet my waking. 
You are dead, and I am dying 1 


THE DUEL. 

OU need not turn so pale, love ; I’m unhurt. 

We quarrelled at the opera last night 
About some trifle. Nay, I scarce know what. 

We men will quarrel for the merest slight. 

We settled time, place, weapon on the spot ; 

Bois de Boulogne, this morning, pistols — well, 

I fear that you are cold, you shudder so ; 

At the first shot my adversary fell. 

Shot through the heart stone-dead — Nay, now don’t 
faint 1 

I hate a fainting woman. Here’s your fan ; 

A little water ? So you ’re better now. 

Pray, hear my story out, love, if you can. 


THE DUEL. 


65 


1 think he uttered something as he fell : 

A woman’s name — I scarcely caught the sound : 

It passed so quickly that I am not sure, 

For he was dead before he reached the ground. 

Ah, poor de Courcy ! Handsome, was he not ? 

A favorite with the ladies, I believe. 

They ’ll miss him sadly. More than one fair dame 
Will o’er his sudden fate in secret grieve. 

How well he looked this morning, as he stood 
Waiting my fire with such a careless grace, 

The breezes playing with his raven curls, 

The sunshine lighting up his gay bright face ! 

Suppose my hand had trembled ? If it had, 

I would have fallen instead of him. You ’re white 
At the bare thought. Nay, here I am, quite well, 
And ready for the opera to-night. 

Ronconi plays, and I would like to see 
“ Marie de Rohan” once or twice again. 

His acting as De Chevreuse is sublime ; 

How he portrays the jealous husband’s pain ! 

All husbands have not such a wife as you ; 

Fair as the sun, and chaste as winter’s moon ! 
How very pale you still are, dearest wife ! 

There is no danger of another swoon ? 

How wrong I was to tell you I had fought; 

I think you ’ve scarce recovered from the shock. 
One kiss upon your brow, and then I’ll go ; 

And pray be ready, love, at eight o’clock ! 


IMP LORO PACEM. 


IMPLORO PACEM. 

TXTITH falt’ring step and weary heart, I come, 

** 0 mother Earth! one boon from thee to 

crave. 

The aching brain and troubled soul would rest. 

Give me a grave. 

On thy kind bosom I would lay my head, 

Never to ope my heavy eyes again 
Upon this world, whose boons to me have been 
Sorrow and pain. 

Life’s noontide burns above me, and I shrink 
From the long thorny path I still must tread ; 
Room for me, mother, ’mid thy best-loved sons — 

The happy dead ! 

Ope thy green mantle ! hush thy weary child 
Into thy slumber, dewy, dreamless, deep, 

0 thou ! who, like the Psalmist’s God, doth give 
Thy lov’d one sleep ! 


TO . 

I ENTER sadly in 
That best-lov’d spot 
Where thou wert wont to be, 
Where thou art not. 


Thy step upon the floor 
Has scarcely died ; 

The echo of thy voice 
Has just replied. 

Yet all around looks sad. 
Deserted, drear, 

And plainer says than words, 

Thou art not here ! 

From yonder wall looks down 
Thy pictured face, 

With something of thy smile, 

And of thy grace. 

Yet though there shine thine eyes, 
There bends thy brow, 

I cannot cheat my heart ; 

It is not thou ! 

For when have eyes of thine 
Their calm watch kept, 

Nor ever lost their smile 
The while I wept ? 

Come back, 0 love of mine 1 
Come back again ! 

Chase from my heart this wild 
And yearning pain. 

Bring back Love’s golden light 
To Life’s drear skies ; 

Banish the bitter tears 
From these sad eyes. 


68 


TO 


Here in one prayer I pour — 

Alas, in vain ! — 

My heart’s wild thirst for thee ; 

Come back again ! 

* * * * * 

0 think of me, darling, 

As I think of you, 

All the long day, love, 

And all the night through. 

1 slumber to dream of thee ; 

Wake but to weep. 

I never forget thee, 

Not even in sleep. 

God keep thee, my darling ! 

God guard thee, mine own ! 

As now thou dost wander 
Afar and alone. 

If loving could shield thee, 

Or prayers could avail, 

No grief should come near thee, 

No peril assail. 

Tis a week since the hour 
That saw thee depart ; 

A week by my counting, 

A year by my heart. 

That heart holds one sorrow; 

With one hope doth burn : 

That grief is thine absence ; 

That hope — thy return. 


IN VAIN. 


69 


IN VAIN. 

f~1LASP closer arms, press closer lips, 

^ In last and vain caressing ! 

For nevermore that pallid cheek 
Will crimson ’neath your pressing. 

For these vain words and vainer tears 
She waited, yester even ; 

She waits you now — but in the far 
Resplendent halls of Heaven. 

With patient eyes fixed on the door, 

She waited, hoping ever, 

Till Heath’s dark wall rose cold between 
Her gaze and you forever. 

She heard your footsteps in the breeze, 
And in the wild bee’s humming : 

The last breath that she shaped to words 
Said softly, “ Is he coming ?” 

Now silenced lies the gentlest heart 
That ever sod did cover ; 

Safe — never to be wrung again 
By you, 0 fickle lover ! 

Your wrongs to her knew never end 
Till earth’s last bonds were riven ; 

Your memory rose cold between 
Her parting soul and Heaven. 


70 


REVELRY. 


Now vain your false and tardy grief; 

Yain your remorseful weeping ; 
For she, whom only you deceived, 
Lies hushed in dreamless sleeping. 
Go — not beside that peaceful form 
Should lying words be spoken 1 
Go, pray to God, “ Be merciful 
As she whose heart I ’ve broken 1” 


REVELRY. 

T^ILL the cup till o’er the brim 
Flows the bright champagne. 
Here’s forgetfulness of grief, 

Balm for every pain. 

Drink ! we watch the dying hours 
Of the dying year. 

She I loved is dead and gone. 

Dead — and I am here ! 

Change the flask, and fill the glass 
With the red Lafitte. 

If there’s Lethe upon earth, 

This — 0 this is it ! 

Drink ! till o’er the purple skies 
Morning flushes clear. 

You are dead, 0 love of mine ! 
Dead — and I am here. 


ICH HABE GELIEBET. 


71 


Pass the dusky cognac here, 

Fill a stronger draught, 

Eicher with the vine’s hot life 
Than the last we quaffed. 

Drink ! till Mem’ry’s phantoms pale 
Fade and disappear. 

Drink ! till I forget she’s dead ! 
Dead — and I am here ! 


ICH HABE GELIEBET. 

"^ES, I have loved thee, and how well and madly, 
Thou, cold of heart, shalt never, never know ! 
I will not feed thy vanity by telling 
How bitterly the tears of manhood flow ! 

Yes, I have loved thee with the deep devotion 
A woman wins but once, and nevermore ; 

Let once Love’s bark be wrecked upon Life’s waters, 
There comes no second to the self-same shore. 

0, 1 have wasted Love’s celestial incense 
Before thy shrine, thou idol wrought of clay ! 
Have poured my heart’s whole wealth upon thine 
altar, 

And now I turn in loathing scorn away. 

Yes, I have wakened from my charmed dreaming 
To yield me to thy witchery no more. 

I would not sorrow could I but respect thee ; 

But I despise where late I did adore. 


72 


ICH HABE GELIEBET. 


I gather up my heart’s poor shattered fragments, 
(That heart thou ’st broken, but mayst not retain,) 
And forth into the world I bend my footsteps, 

Never, I trust, to see thy face again. 

I ask no vengeance from the avenging Future. 

Cold heart and shallow brain, go free, go free ! 

I do not ask thee, in thy joyous hours, 

To blight thy gayety with thoughts of me ! 

Unbidden comes the day of retribution ; 

Surely, though late, its sun shall o’er thee shine, 
When thou, with worn-out grace and faded beauty, 
W ould sell thy very soul for love like mine. 

And if the spirits of the ancient Sibyl 
My lip and soul to prophecy had mov’d, 

I could for thee foretell a doom no darker 

Than that which shall be thine — to live unloved. 

And when the rose hue from thy cheek has faded, 
The gloss departed from thy golden hair, 

When e’en thy fondest flatterer — thy mirror, 

Bids thee confess thou art no longer fair ; 

When the bright dreams of youth have left thee 
wholly, 

And thou, to muse upon the Past, art free 
When friend and flatterer alike desert thee, 

Then is mine hour. Yes, then remember me ! 

Remember me ! for I have loved thee truly, 

And would have loved thee to life’s latest hour ; 


IN MEMORY OF H. A. 0. 73 

I would have strewn thy earthly path with roses ; 

(Mine all the thorns, so thou hadst but the flower.) 
Yes, I have loved thee — take this last confession 
From one whose heart from aught save scorn is free, 
Who deems thee now too pitiful for hatred : 

I shall forget ! but thou — remember me ! 


IN MEMORY OF H. A. C. 

/"Y AUTUMN days of solemn light, 
And sunsets soft and tender ! 

A shadow on your glory rests, 

A darkness on your splendor ; 

. For, ’neath your golden gleaming skies, 
He lies in dreamless sleeping, 

Whose praise we fain would speak to-day, 
Yet cannot speak for weeping. 

Alas ! the poet’s skill is vain ! 

Our feeble voices falter 
As we approach with mournful hearts 
Death’s consecrated altar. 

There’s better praise than rhymed dirge, 
In mournful measure vying — 

The tears that rain above the turf 
’Neath which our lost is lying. 

0 deeply loved and early doomed ! 

O young, unconscious teacher ! 

6 


74 


IN MEMORY OF II. A. C. 


By thy pure life and hero death 
How eloquent a preacher ! 

Yain were your countless gifts, 0 Earth ! 

To teach his heart repining 
When on his fading life he saw 
The dawn of Heaven shining. 

Unstained, he rendered up to God 
His life’s unopened blossom ; 
Temptation’s many-pointed darts 
Fell pointless from his bosom. 

All gifts this world of ours hath 
To his young life were given, 

Till God on that pure heart bestowed 
His last, best blessing — Heaven. 

Take him, 0 Earth ! No nobler heart 
Lies cold within thy grasping. 

Take him, 0 Heaven ! Never soul 
More stainless sought thy clasping 
Than his, who, when life’s light grew dim 
And death’s dark shades were falling, 
Had messages for countless friends, 

No enemies recalling. 

0 Mother ! bowed beneath this grief, 

The first your boy e’er gave you, 

Y ain is your tearful sympathy 
From one wild pang to save you ! 

Look up to God. His hand one day 
That loved one shall restore you, 


LEONORA D'ESTE. 


75 


Whose dying words were, “ It is best 
That I should die before you.” 


LEONORA D’ESTE. 

T HAVE stolen from the revel, forth to silence and 
the night, 

From the palace of Ferrara and its hall of festal 
light. 

I must smile beneath the lustres ; I can weep beneath 
the stars — 

Stars which haply thou art watching through thy 
dungeon’s iron bars. 

Dost thou think of me, 0 Tasso, pent within those 
stifling walls, 

As thy mem’ry haunts me ever in these gay and gilded 
halls ? 

I can summon but one phantom from the chambers 
of my brain : 

’Mid the festal music ever sounds the clanking of thy 
chain. 

As the dancers weave their measures, lo, the palace 
fades away, 

And I see a narrow dungeon shut from e’en the light 
of day ; 

And beside the lowly pallet, pale, with silver-sprinkled 
hair, 

Bends the form I knew so noble, bends the brow I 
thought so fair. 


76 


LEONORA JD'ESTE. 


Gone the mien erect and princely ; gone the glance 
so high and brave ! 

Tasso, Tasso, do not curse me ; I was powerless to 
save ! 

0 Alfonso ! cruel brother, deaf to every human 

prayer, 

Wouldst thou grant but one petition, hear me once 
in my despair ! 

Wouldst thou promise but to free him when this life 
of mine were done, 

He should walk this earth in freedom ere arose to- 
morrow’s sun. 

1 must trust thee to the Future. Time, who still 

avenges all, 

Y ery surely shall avenge thee, and on me his wrath 
will fall. 

Future generations, bending o’er thy grand majestic 
song, 

Shall amid their praise find curses for the workers of 
thy wrong. 

They will curse the fatal beauty that has wrought thee 
so much woe ; 

And my life-long love and sorrow none will ever heed 
or know. 

Ay, the steps of future ages shall thy cell seek as a 
shrine ! 

Generations will lament thee. Who will reck these 
tears of mine ? 


LEONORA D'ESTE. 


77 


Not e’en thou, 0 lov’d so vainly! thou wilt deem 
thyself forgot ! 

Thou wilt think my love has withered in the sunshine 
of my lot. 

Would that thou couldst but behold me when my 
tears fall down like rain ! 

When I cry aloud to Heaven in mine agony in 
vain. 

Or, couldst see me at the altar, when I bend my knee 
in prayer — 

“ Save him God !” the voiceless accents of my 
anguish and despair. 

God is deaf, and man is cruel ; there are none to hear 
or save. 

Thou wilt only leave thy prison through the portals 
of the grave ; 

And perchance in yonder heaven we will meet, and 
I shall tell 

How I loved thee, Unforgotten, loved thee ever, and 
how well ! 

And they say that I am dying ! Death comes not to 
such as I : 

Life is strong in wretched bosoms ; ’tis the blest alone 
that die. 

Roses fade and fall forever in the summer’s sunny 
air ; 

Withered leaves defy the tempest as they cling to 
branches bare. 


78 


ON AN OLD PORTRAIT. 


Hark ! the music rings exultant, pealing forth a gayer 
strain ! 

I must back into the revel ; I must wear the mask 
again. 

Smile, 0 lips, and hide the anguish ye may never dare 
to speak. 

Shine, 0 eyes, and, like my jewels, flash the while my 
heart doth break. 

Flush, 0 cheek, to deeper roses ; let me bravely act 
the lie ; 

Let me smile, and jest, and r.evel, till God hears me, 
and I die. 


ON AN OLD PORTRAIT. 

T^YES, that outsmiled the morn, 
Behind your golden lashes, 
What are your fires now? 

Ashes ! 

Cheeks, that outblushed the rose, 
White arms and snowy bust, 
What is your beauty now ? 

Dust ! 


OUR HEROES. 


OUR HEROES. 

/^j_AY leaders in the “ German’s” maze, 

^ Light danglers by a lady’s chair, 
White-glov’d, soft-voiced— your place of old 
Knows you no more. Where are you, where? 

Our lists of “dancing men” grow thin ; 

And, as one turns the page, one sees 
The old familiar names no more ; 

They ’re writ on sadder lists than these : 

Dark records of red battle-fields! 

Of crimson sands and gory sod ! 

Where, ’mid the rush and roar of war, 

Brave souls and true went up to God. 

We read the lists of those who pine 
In loathsome prisons far away; 

And sigh to greet each well-known name : 

There are our carpet knights to-day. 

And if, in haunts forsaken long, 

We greet once more a well-known face, 

On pallid brow and faded lip 
We mark the fatal fever trace : 

Or, with full heart and eyes, we note 
The gallant soldier’s empty sleeve ; 


80 


TOO LATE. 


Yet back, unshed, we press our tears ! 

We are too proud of him to grieve ! 

And, gallant hearts ! undaunted still 
By perilled life and wearing pain, 

They turn from loving homes away, 

Their scarce-saved lives to stake again. 

Scarce has each fearful wound been healed, 
Scarce has the fever ceased to burn, 
Than from each wan lip rings the cry : 

“ Our country needs us — we return ! 

“ We go to bear her flag once more 
To victory ’neath the Southern sky. 

We ’ve suffered for her cause ; and now 
We ’re ready, for that cause, to die !” 

My country ! though thy flag to-day 
Droops, dimmed and rent by rebel guns, 
Thou hast no cause to faint or fear ! 

Be proud the while thou hast such sons ! 


TOO LATE. 

HPWO hours a mother, one year a wife, 

-*• She lies in the trance of departing life. 

Her husband, beside her dying bed, 

In bitterest anguish bows his head. 


TOO LATE. 


81 


“ Accurs’d,” he mutters, “ the fate that sold 
A lordly name for a woman’s gold ; 

“ That gave her hand where her heart was not, 
And darkened forever her wedded lot ! 

“ Yet, though you have loved me not, my wife, 
I loved you ever, and more than life.” 

The dying heard, and the fleeting breath 
Returned ; for Love was as strong as Death. 

Over her cheek stole a tinge of red ; 

Straight she arose in her dying bed ! 

“ Husband !” she cries, “let us bless the fate 
That tells us the truth, though late, so late ! 

“ I thought that I was an unlov’d bride, 
Wedded for wealth and sold to pride. 

“Yet (closer, 0 husband, bend your brow !) 

I lov’d you long, and I love you now !” 

f 

She hides on his heart her paling face ; 

He folds her close in a long embrace. 

Slowly he lays her from off his breast, 

Back to her long and her dreamless rest. 

He bends and kisses the placid brow, 

Whiter than marble and cold as snow. 


82 


JEALOUSY. 


He whispers low, “The kiss now given 
Return to me when we meet in Heaven!” 

Alas ! the secret of many a fate 

These two words tell, “ Too late, too late !” 


JEALOUSY. 

T STAND beside the silent couch 

Whence Hope, and Life, and Love have fled 
The wild voice of the wintry wind 
Alone doth break the silence dread. 

It will not wake you, 0 my wife ! 

Never on earth you ’ll wake again. 

Those close-shut lids are done with tears ; 

That frozen brow is done with pain. 

Never again my jealous fears 

Will wake your cold and scornful smile ; 

Never again I ’ll wring your heart, 

Breaking my own the bitter while. 

Yet, even now, the while I gaze 
Upon your silent, frozen rest, 

The olden fears, the olden doubts 
Return anew to wring my breast. 

You loved me not, O bitter truth ! 

Though known too late, yet learned too well. 
And did you love another ? Lo ! 

The dead the long hid secret tell ! 


JEALOUSY. 


Your desk before me shattered lies, 

And now T hold with frenzied clasp 
Those hidden letters, treasured long ; 

Your secret is within my grasp. 

Now I shall know if you were pure 
As yonder snow before it fell ; 

Or fouler than the pitchy smoke 
That reeks from out the depths of hell ! 

My hand is on the folded page 
Wherein your life-long secret lies ; 

And yet I pause before I slay 
The Past and all its memories ! 

0 loved one ! loved so long and well ! 

It may be in an instant more 
That I shall loathe thee with a hate 
Surpassing e’en my love of yore. 

And I, perchance, to-morrow morn 
Will stand beside the churchyard sod, 
With shame and curses in my heart : — 
Never, never — so help me God ! 

The embers glow upon the hearth ; 

I give unto their red embrace 
Your treasured letters folded still, 

Pale ashes now their only trace ; 

And may this act atone, 0 love ! 

For all my jealous doubts and fears, 
That darkened so with misery 

Our wedded life these long sad years. 


84 


THE LAST KISS. 


I trust you now, alas ! too late ! 

Rest, with this last kiss on your brow ; 
If you have sinn’d, God knows, not I ! 
To me for aye you ’re spotless now. 


THE LAST KISS. 

I/’ ISS me, darling — I am weary; 

Life was long, and earth was dreary. 
I am sick of care and pain ; 

Kiss me once, and not again. 

Life, thou ’rt fading from my heart ! 

Love, wilt thou, too, so depart? 

Perish Life if Love remain ! 

Kiss me once, and not again. 

Other lips outside the door 
Wait thee warm as mine of yore ; 

Mine are cold with death and pain ; 

Kiss me once, and not again. 

False the love, and false the kiss ; 

False e’en in an hour like this ! 

False, but all too late to pain; 

Kiss me once, and not again. 

So — now go and close the door ; 

I shall never see thee more ; 


THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 


85 


When I ’m done with life and pain, 
Come and kiss' me once again. 


THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 

TAAWN is shining o’er the waters 
Where a gilded galley lies ; 

And a baby’s sinless laughter 
Floats like incense to the skies. 

And the perfumed breeze is laden 
With the sounds of childish glee : 

We are drifting, we are drifting 
Ever downward to the sea. 

It is morning on the waters, 

And the skies shine bright above ; 

And our lips are tuned to gladness, 
And we sing of life and love. 

“ Every wave on Life’s dark waters 
Holds an image, love, of thee !” 

So we sing the while we ’re drifting 
Ever downward to the sea. 

It is noon upon the waters, 

And we stand erect and strong, 

And the rocky banks re-echo 
To the burden of our song : 

“ Life ’s a struggle, life’s a battle, 

And its warriors are we.” 

So we sing the while we ’re drifting 
Ever downward to the sea. 


86 A WOMAN'S WISDOM. 

It is evening on the waters, 

And our song has died away. 

We are weary of the sunlight ; 

We are weary of the day. 

“ Give us rest, and give us mem’ry ! 

Life, we crave no more from thee !” 
We are drifting, we are drifting 
Ever downward to the sea. 

It is night upon the waters, 

And the gilded bark is gone ; 

And the moonlight’s veil of silver 
Lies upon the waves alone. 

Round the river’s mouth the ocean 
Moans in mournful melody; 

We have drifted, we have drifted 
Downward, downward to the sea. 


A WOMAN’S WISDOM. 

QO we can meet again. In days departed 
^ We met, we loved, we parted — all is past. 
The ties that severed us so long are broken, 
The bitter cup of anguish drained at last. 
The Fast has fled with all its store of pain, 
And we are free to meet and love again. 


To meet — to love. Alas, 0 friend ! remember 
That life with us has reached its autumn day. 


A WOMAN'S WISDOM. 


87 


Seek not amid the clouds of cold November 
To find the sunlight of our golden May. 

The story of the mournful past is told 

In one brief sentence — we are growing old. 

You say you love me still. I ’m old and faded, 
With silver gleams, not golden, in my hair; 

And you recall me as you last beheld me, 

In my bright youth, still radiant and fair. 

Friend, when my altered face and form you scan, 

Your love will perish. Ay, you are a man 1 

Not so a woman loves. I still could love you, 
Though manhood’s beauty may not linger now ; 

Were but your heart still mine, still true and loving, 
I would not heed Time’s traces on your brow. 

Alas ! the world’s sad wisdom is mine own. 

I trust not man’s love now. I ’m wiser grown. 

And yet, when first I learned our tardy freedom, 

My heart leaped wildly — it is still again ; 

Better that it should bear its wonted aching 
Than in the future find some sharper pain ; 

And it is strong to suffer by the thrill 

That told me in that hour I loved you still. 

No, let us meet no more ; remember only 

The fair young girl to whom you bade farewell. 

Forget that in this world of ours there dwelleth 
The mournful wreck of one you loved so well. 


i* v* 




88 


A WINTER TALE. 


Our grief, our parting dwell with days of yore. 
There let our love rest ; let us meet no more. 


A WINTER TALE. 

"DENEATH the star’s pale light, 

Upon a winter’s night, 

Two women sat beneath an ancient yew. 

Both marvellously fair; 

One with dark eyes and hair, 

The other golden-tress’d, with eyes of blue. 

Each told a bitter tale, 

Sad as a dying wail, 

Of woman’s faith and of man’s faithlessness. 
Each thrill’d the winter air 
With words of wild despair, 

And with the accents of heart-wrung distress. 

One to the other said : 

“Now Love and Hope are dead; 

The ashes of the Past our Future smother ; 
Yet let us once again 
Back to the haunts of men : 

Let us return — let us avenge each other !” 

One year has pass’d and two : 

Again beneath the yew 
The silent stars behold those women fair. 


FAUST TO MARGUERITE. 


89 


Each with cold lips and pale 
Again repeats her tale. 

Triumphant words, not sad, now thrill the air. 

One told of what she ’d done, 

Of love spurn’d soon as won ; 

Of death self-dealt while manhood’s pulse beat high. 
The other, with a smile 
That never changed the while, 

Said, “He who wronged you lives and longs to die 1” 

Such laughter then arose 
As Hell, not Heaven, knows, 

Wild exultation with fierce hatred blended. 

Into the darkness then 
They pass’d from human ken, 

Whither I know not. Lo, my tale is ended ! 


FAUST TO MARGUERITE. 

TTT'ILD visions, born of mem’ry and remorse, 

" * Recall thy ruined beauty, Marguerite ! 

And I behold thee still before me glide, 

Pale as the vision of Walpurgis night ! 

And once again I see the wild sad eyes 

Whose last gaze turned from me to seek the skies, 

Marguerite ! 


7 


90 


FAUST TO MARGUERITE. 


And then the vision changes. I behold 
Thee pure and fair as when I saw thee first, 

Ere yet the fiend and I had stay’d thy steps, 

And thrilled thy heart with words and looks 
accursed. 

Alas ! the sweet mouth I shall kiss no more, 

The golden hair that swept the prison floor, 

Marguerite ! 

Again the dream doth change. I see again 
The wondrous vision of the witches’ cave ; 

When fiendish art called up thy gentle form, 

And to my dazzled eyes thy beauty gave, 

And then I wake to know thou art no more ; 

That peace and hope and love for me are o’er, 

Marguerite ! 

And thou didst love me — yes, the last on earth, 

For mortal love shall nevermore be mine. 

What have I left me now ? Remorse, despair — 

The fiend’s companionship instead of thine. 

My past all sin ; my present — misery ; 

Hell for my future. Woe, ah woe is me ! 

Marguerite ! 

There ’s blood upon my hands ; it does not weigh 
So heavy upon my soul as thine undoing. 

His sword met mine — his rage aroused my wrath ! 
What hadst thou done that I should work thy ruin ? 


FAUST TO MARGUERITE. 


91 


No compact ’twixt us did the demon need ; 

My soul was lost by that one unblest deed, 

Marguerite ! 


And even Death will re-unite us not. 

That last hope sad hearts cherish is not mine. 
The awful gulf that never may be cross’d 
Will separate for aye my soul from thine. 

Yet one blest thought amid despair doth live : 

If Heav’n will not, tliou wilt, I know, forgive, 

Marguerite ! 


One other ray of light illumes my lot, 

One dream of mercy on my heart is graved — 
The mem’ry of that strange mysterious voice, 
Heard in the last dread hour, “ She is saved !” 
Yes, I can bear my fate, whate’er it be: 

Let Hell be mine, if Heav’n has place for thee, 

Marguerite ! 

Pray for me, Marguerite ! I am so lost 

And so accurs’d, my lips are locked from prayer. 
Canst thou not give me back to hope and Heav’u, 
Me, who but gave thee ruin and despair ? 

In yonder sky, where thou dost wander free, 

Ask God if there be mercy still for me, 

Marguerite ! 


92 


THE GIVING OF THE GOBLET. 


THE GIVING OF THE GOBLET. 

There was a king in Thule, 

Faithful e'en to the grave ; 

To whom his lov'd one dying 
A golden goblet gave l — Goethe. 

Y ES, I am dying, 0 my king, my husband ! 

The life thou’st blest is fading from my heart 5 
And one last gift my dying hand would proffer 
Ere I from happiness and thee depart ! 

No saintly relic that thou mayst, when kneeling 
At holy shrine, unto thy reft heart press ; 

No fond love-token to thy sad gaze sacred, 

Amid thine hours of mournful loneliness. 

Nor yet a sword, to flash protecting lightning 
Above thee when thy war-shout rends the air. 
When death and danger, 0 belov’d, are near thee, 
Dost thou not think that I too will be there ? 

And when thou ’rt kneeling at some holy altar, 

My memory, I know, will with thee dwell ; 

And, ’mid the silence of thy lonely chamber, 

Thou wilt remember me, alas ! too well. 

But when the revel reigneth in the palace, 

When flames the torch and flows the wine-cup free, 
Thou mayst forget me ! E’en amid thy feasting, 

O love ! I still would have thee think of me ! 


ON A PORTRAIT OF HEINE. 


93 


Behold my gift — this golden-jewell’d goblet ! 

Let it be sacred to thy lips alone ! 

Drain it at every feast ; and while thou ’rt drinking, 
Remember me ! thy lov’d, thy lost, thine own ! 

When comes the moment of our re-uniting, 

When on th’ unknown shore I wait for thee, 

And when in dying one last draught thou cravest, 
Drink from this goblet then, and drink to me ! 


ON A PORTRAIT OF HEINE. 

T) EH OLD ! the limner’s magic art 

-■-* In few yet wondrous lines doth tell 

How beautiful, how sad, how sweet 
The face of him who sang so well ! 

The Poet, not the Infidel, 

Looks from those features calm and fair ! 

No skeptic sneer their beauty mars, 

For Death is near and Thought is there. 

Thus thou didst look — thus hadst thou sung, 
What immortality were thine ! 

We ne’er had prayed then, “ God forgive, 
And World forget, each mocking line !” 

Forgive, 0 God — forget, 0 World, 

What blasphemy he could create ! 


94 


THE KING'S RIDE. 


Let but that sweet sad face recall 
How sweet his song, how sad his fate ! 


THE KING’S RIDE. 

A BOVE the city of Berlin 

Shines soft the summer day ; 

And near the royal palace, shout 
The schoolboys at their play. 

Sudden the mighty palace gates 
Unclasp their portals wide, 

And forth into the sunshine see 
A single horseman ride. 

A bent old man in plain attire ; 

No glitt’ring courtiers wait, 

No arm6d guard attends the steps 
Of Frederick the Great ! 

The boys have spied him, and with shouts 
The summer breezes ring. 

The merry urchins haste to greet 
Their well-belov6d king. 

Impeding e’en his horse’s tread, 

Presses the joyous train; 

And Prussia’s despot frowns his best, 
And shakes his stick in vain. 


AFTER THE BATTLE. 


95 


The frowning look, the angry tone 
Are feigned, full well they know. 

They do not fear his stick — that hand 
Ne’er struck a coward blow. 

“Be off to school, you boys I” he cries ; 

“ Ho ! ho !” the laughers say, 

“ A pretty king you not to know 
We’ ve holiday to-day !” 

And so upon that summer day, 

Those children at his side, 

The symbol of his nation’s love, 

Did royal Frederick ride. 

O Kings ! your thrones are tott’ring now ! 
Dark frowns the brow of Fate ! 

When did you ride as rode that day 
King Frederick the Great ? 


AFTER THE BATTLE. 

XITE sit together in our homes, the brief spring 
* * day is done ; 

The shouting newsboys through the streets proclaim 
the vict’ry won ! 

We hail with blended thankfulness the triumph bought 
so dear ; 

Our hearts one instant leap with joy — the next they 
thrill with fear. 


AFTER THE BATTLE. 


We know that our beloved one was in that fearful 
fray, 

And stood a mark for rebel shot throughout the 
bloody day. 

We know that young heroic form was foremost in 
the fight; 

That where the bravest were was he ! 0 where is 

he to-night 1 

We check the supplications wild that fain would fill 
the air ; 

Our lips are frozen when we think, “ It is too late for 
prayer !” 

Either he bides in safety where the wearied armies 
lie, 

Or he looks upon our anguish from the other side the 
sky. 

We lift our tear-dimm’d glances to the blue and starry 
sky; 

No voice from out the azure depths gives answer, 
“ Here am I !” 

And silent lies the sleeping Earth beneath the moon’s 
pale light. 

0, Earth and Heaven ! which of you holds our belov’d 
to-night ? 


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